


Cursed

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [71]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Asthma attack, Greg Sanders Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Greg has an asthma attack...and doesn't have his inhaler.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [71]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257824
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> For an anon on tumblr who requested this from me way back in January. If you're still out there, I hope you enjoy!

It was an ordinary night, well, at least as “ordinary” as things could be at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. 

With everything that had happened in the last few months, between Sara leaving, Warrick’s suspension, the onslaught of sickness that spread rapidly amongst the members of the crime lab--with Greg being patient zero, inoculating Nick first--things finally seemed to have settled down, and Greg dared to say that he was almost...happy. 

He was making serious progress with his book, and with a relationship, both of which he had been working on for the past two years. He was in much better condition now that he had mostly recovered from his cold, and more than that, he was in a good mood. __

A good mood that was made even better as he caught Nick in his periphery, leaning against the doorframe in a leather jacket with a popped collar, holding a duffel bag in one hand and car keys in the other.

“Your night off, my court date ended early...You still coming over?” Nick asked as he teased his jacket open to reveal his bare chest underneath the jacket. 

“Forget something in your locker there, Stokes?” Greg smirked, raising his eyebrows at Nick’s lack of a shirt. Greg had been reaching for his own jacket before Nick distracted him, his extended arm now bracing the edge of the locker as his legs suddenly felt light enough to buckle down.

“Ruined all my good ones,” Nick shrugged with a coy smile. His fingers were wrapped around the slider piece, gliding it up and down the chain, going further with each dive of his zipper. “It is laundry day, after all,” he added as he raised the duffel bag. 

“Mmhmm,” Greg nodded to the rise and fall of Nick’s hand on his jacket. 

“So...you coming?” Nick asked again. “Figured we could just order a pizza or somethin’, unless you wanted to get something else…?”

“Pizza’s...good…” Greg mumbled numbly, before he shook his head, shook the lightness out of his head and slammed his locker shut, all of the sudden action dragging out a minor fit of coughs from his chest. He cleared his throat before he looked back at Nick, waving a hand up to indicate he was okay. “Pizza. Yeah. Pizza’s good.”

“You still sick, man? Or...just a little distracted?” Nick chuckled as he remained still, blocking Greg’s path out of the locker room.

“Shut up, Stokes,” Greg glared with a smirk and mischievous gleam in his eyes as they both headed to the parking garage in shared laughter. He felt a little chilly as he entered the structure and felt the early morning air breeze through the building, briefly considering running back inside to get his jacket. 

But one look at Nick and he was reminded that he didn’t need a jacket to get warm.

* * *

There were few things that got Nick’s heart rate up these days. The adrenaline rush of chasing a suspect? Sure. The rush of closing a case, getting justice for a victim and their family? Always a good one. The barrel of a gun shoved in his face? Not quite, not anymore.

And in all of those instances, the feeling was fleeting, faded as the situation diffused and things returned to normal.

But the sight of Greg Sanders, sprawled out on the couch, his head in Nick’s lap, looking up at Nick with a bright smile and shining eyes, a hand reaching up to toy with the zipper on Nick’s jacket certainly sent Nick’s heart on a ride it hadn’t been on in quite some time.

A ride that was about to take a sudden dive that Nick’s heart certainly wasn’t prepared for.

“I’m surprised you still have that jacket on,” Greg mused. “It is a little warm in here.” 

“Mm, well it’s cold outside, and I’m still recovering from a cold of my own,” Nick teased with a slight wink.

“Yeah, wonder how that happened.”

Greg chuckled but the laughter got caught in his throat, he fell into a fit of coughs and floundered in Nick’s lap. Nick tried to help by raising Greg up off his lap, sitting him up while Greg tried to wave it off, and the coughs faded out. 

“You alright, baby?” Nick asked softly as Greg reached for the water bottle on Nick’s coffee table. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Greg coughed out. “Just...caught somethin’ in my throat. You know what would make me feel really better, though…?”

Greg leaned into Nick, his fingers unzipped Nick’s jacket and he peeled the folds off of his shoulders, exposing his bare chest. He pressed his sweaty palm against it, pushed Nick into the back of the couch. Nick grinned, wrapping his hands around Greg’s waist as Greg straddled his lap and leaned in for a kiss…

But the normal warm, fleshy, slobbery sensation of Greg’s tongue that he expected from the man’s mouth transformed into a spray of phlegm as Greg fell into another coughing fit. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there! This is exactly what got us sick in the first place, partner!” Nick drawled, sitting himself up as he cupped a hand on the back of Greg’s head, another hand patted Greg’s back. 

“S-so- _ cough- _ orr-y!” Greg huffed, and his fit ended with a tight  _ wheeze.  _

“You got your inhaler?” 

“Don’t--need--it, ‘m fine!” Greg gasped as he crawled off of Nick and over the top of the couch. Nick watched his fingers dance and tangle in the drawstrings of the blinds. “Let’s just--open a window…”

Nick felt the hairs on the back of his head stand up as a swift waft of Nevada air blew against his neck, and Greg sank down, his breathing became labored and deep. Even in the soft yellow glow of the street lamp outside of Nick’s house, Greg’s skin looked pale, his lips washed out.

“Greg, I’m serious, man, where’s your inhaler?” Nick asked, reaching towards Greg’s shoulder, but drawing back before touching it, as if his touch would inspire another burst of coughs. 

“Uh...j-jacket?” Greg asked, after his hands quickly patted down his jeans for the missing object.

“Jacket, okay…” Nick muttered, he jumped up for the couch, his eyes scanning the area for the clothing. “Wait a minute...you didn’t have your jacket.”

As if on cue, Greg started coughing again, harder and more intense than before. Nick’s heart raced as his mind ran rampant, trying to remember what to do in this situation, but the sight of Greg’s smooth, pale face bubble with red, protruding veins seized his heart and his mind in one fell swoop, and he was frozen, helpless. 

And cold. 

“Breathe. Just...just breathe, Greg,” Nick panted through his developing panic. He hardly followed his own advice, as his breaths became sharp and fast, while his fingers quickly typed into google, “asthma attack, no inhaler.”

“Coffee. Let’s-let’s get you some coffee, that should help, right?” Nick murmured as Greg inched closer to the window, his fingers raising the glass up, before scratching at the screen to rip it apart. 

It reminded him of his own attempts for more air, when he thought he had none.

He distracted himself by rushing to make a pot of coffee, each drip of the machine lasted an eternity, his teeth clenched as he wished it would just go  _ faster,  _ but his anxiety eased as Greg’s coughing slowed...

Nick nearly dropped the coffee pot as the air was cut with a high wheeze from Greg, and the coughing stopped altogether. 

And so did his breathing. 

“Greg! Greg, c’mon, buddy, no, no, no, no,” Nick rushed over to his friend, one hand was grabbing his throat--not helping matters  _ at all _ \--the other clutching his chest, which felt tight as Nick placed a hand on top of his. 

“In...and out...in...and out…” Nick tried to coax, but Greg shook his head, his eyes  _ screamed  _ at Nick as they nearly bulged out their sockets, “ _ I can’t breathe!”  _

Pride be damned, Nick realized that he wouldn’t be able to fix this on his own. As he moved one hand to pry Greg's hand off of his own throat, he used the other to reach for his cell phone, and dialed 9-1-1.

As Greg’s eyes rolled backwards, Nick could see the fear pulsating in his pupil’s, the plea for Nick to pull him away from the darkness, but Nick was unable to do anything but make his partner comfortable as sirens wailed in the distance,  _ taking their time,  _ Nick mused darkly to himself. 

Greg went limp in his arms, and Nick had never felt so helpless in his life.

* * *

Hours later, Greg stirred with a gentle groan, first towards the monitor attached to his heart, and then a slightly more pleasurable groan towards the sulking Stokes in the corner, who looked up from the cradle he made with his fingers to rest his hanging head. 

“G?” Nick croaked, his voice hoarse from one of two scenarios, Greg assumed. Either from constant rambling about his guilt of not being able to help his friend, from his shouting orders at the nurses, begging for them to just “fix” Greg. 

Or from just absolute disuse, which is what Greg thinks is the more likely possibility, judging by the redness around his eyes, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow that came two hours too early, the dishevelment of his hair.

“‘M here,” Greg mumbled with a corner smirk. 

“I think we’re cursed, man,” Nick scoffed and shook his head before inching his chair closer to the bed. He reached towards Greg’s outstretched fingers, tangled them in his own. 

“Cursed?” Greg scrunched his face, fumbled around for the remote to raise the incline of his bed to a more comfortable position as he continued to look at Nick for an explanation.

“I thought things were gettin’ better,” he elaborated. “Thought that maybe...our...my luck was turnin’ around but I just...couldn’t help a-and it was my fault anyway--”

Ah, there it was. Nick’s guilt wrapping around Greg’s heart and squeezing.

“Nick, c’mon,” Greg chuckled. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe if I hadn’t...distracted you...you wouldn’t have forgotten this,” Nick dug out Greg’s inhaler from his pocket and Greg laughed. 

“This ain’t funny, bro, you coulda died!” Nick squeaked with a crack in his voice, his eyebrows curved, his lips puckered in a small pout.

“Nah, I wouldn't have. You got me.” 

“You literally passed out in my arms, Greg.”

“Yeah, and you kept me safe, like you always do. And always will. There’s nobody I trust more with my life.”

“Well...can you just...carry this with you, just in case?” 

“Yeah, okay...so long as you carry your epi-pen with you,” Greg jabbed back with raised eyebrows. 

“Deal.”

“Man, though, what a pair we make, huh? The asthmatic and the allergic.”

Nick finally cracked a small, restrained smile and his eyes sparkled, putting Greg’s heart at eased.

“Yeah, it’s like someone has it out for us to just live a life of suffering.”


End file.
